


Tipping Point

by bluejay_unit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Teen Winchesters, rated for language, side of Sam/OFC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7490718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejay_unit/pseuds/bluejay_unit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean had to grow apart before they could grow close. This was the tipping point where things started to change. (Though it only delayed the inevitable separation when Sam left for Stanford.) Sam's 13, Dean is 17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Please excuse my forward-flash tangents and frankly absurd glimpse-of-the-future parenthetical statements.)
> 
> This a mostly-completed fic, so new chapters every Thursday. Looking for a beta as well if anyone's interested. Going to be at least 5 chapters.

Sam first saw her through a library shelf. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t usually bother learning too many names, he’d only been at this school a month and a half and he would be lucky if his stay lasted twice that long. 

He had been wandering the stacks after school, halfway between the mysteries and the biographies, when he caught sight of her. Soft, curly brown hair, bright eyes, and an amused smile directed to the tattered copy of The Golden Compass she held in her hands. 

He was so entranced that he hadn’t noticed that he’d been staring until she was directly across from him, peeking through an empty slot in the library shelf. 

“Did you find what you’re looking for?” she asked, startling him.

“Oh-what? Um, sorry, I was just—“

“Browsing?” she finished, grinning. Sam felt his face grow red.

“Uh, yeah, I um…” he tucked the book he was holding under his arm. He nodded towards her book. “Are you enjoying The Golden Compass so far?”

“Oh, I’m rereading it actually,” she answered brightly, “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Really? Mine too!” Sam smiled, glad that he wasn’t even lying. His dark materials series had been one of many that kept him distracted on his frequent long hours on the road.

“Don’t you just love Lyra, and all the magic, and oh, what do you think your daemon would be? Personally, I always thought mine would be a beagle,” she responded.

“I don’t know, it’d be awesome to have like, a panther daemon. But,” he sighed, “I’d probably end up with a lame one, like a hamster or something.” (Sam would wish for his own daemon to keep him company much later in life, until the word gained a new meaning for him, until it became all too real in the worst way possible. Rereading His Dark Materials was never quite the same after that.)

She laughed, and Sam felt buoyant enough to float away. 

“I doubt that,” she added kindly. She stuck her hand through the gap in the shelf. “I’m Elizabeth.”

Sam shook her hand. “I’m Sam.”  
*******************************************************************************  
Sam sat at the kitchen table, eating his fruit loops and thinking about his upcoming date with Elizabeth. After a week at school, the two had become inseparable, and after another week Sam had finally mustered up the courage to ask her out. Of course, he wasn’t actually allowed out nights, but he was determined to work around that.  
Dean was also eating breakfast, with his feet up on the table. He was watching the fuzzy old TV as it blared Star trek reruns, and ignoring Sam’s complaints about the noise. 

Sam ignored him back, and went over the plans he’d written down in his notebook. It had taken a lot of careful thought to arrange this, and he didn’t want to forget anything. 

John came in the room and joined them at the table with his journal and a pile of papers.

“Alright boys, here’s the plan,” he announced. “Dean, turn that thing off,” he added, an afterthought. Off the TV went. “I’ve tracked this wendigo down to a 3 acre area of the woods on the outside of town, so it’s nice and out of the way of people. But we only got one shot at this or we lose it again. Dean, you’re coming with me to flush it out. Sam, you’ll hang back and guard the house.”

Most kids had curfew. Sam had a training regimen and guard duty.

“Yes, sir,” Dean chanted back. 

“Sam, we’ll be heading out this afternoon, so I’ll need you to come straight home from school, alright? No leaving your post.”

“Ok.”

“And you know the drill, keep the windows and doors locked, the salt lines intact, and if you get any trouble you call us straight away, understand?”

“I understand.”  
**************************************************************

Dean frowned at Sam across the table. Lately Sam had been giving Dad attitude, objecting to everything he said, whether Sam actually disagreed or not. So this was unusually complacent behavior for him.

John didn’t look as though he’d noticed anything off, but Dean was suspicious. But, whatever. If this was some new tactic he was trying, he couldn’t see how it could cause him trouble if Sam was actually agreeing with Dad for once.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam finally got Dad and Dean out of the door on their way to the hunt, with many assurances that he knew what to do if something came after him. He waited until the car turned the corner and he could no longer hear the growl of the impala. 

He rushed to his room, and uncovered the picnic basket he’d hidden in his closet. He’d had to borrow one from his theater class, as he couldn’t get to any store but the corner deli without asking for a ride.

Sam then went around packing his spoils. Elizabeth loved the park, which Sam made sure was on the opposite side of town from where the wendigo was supposed to be. 

He gathered the sandwiches, and sodas for both of them.

He checked that the salt line was unbroken around the apartment. He pushed rolled up towels against the windows and doors so it couldn’t blow away.

He packed cheese and crackers and strawberries. He packed oreos (his favorite) and chocolate chip (her favorite). 

He checked the sigils hidden under carpets and protective charms under cabinets.

On a whim, he packed his copy of the Golden Compass.

He gave one more cursory glance over the apartment, then left to go meet Elizabeth, locking the door behind him.  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dean moved on to the next forest clearing. Standing straight, shoulders back, gun clutched steady at his side. He scanned the area methodically. The gun would barely slow the wendigo down, but his job wasn’t to kill it. He only had to chase it into John’s trap, ready to go up in flames. He had supposedly tracked down its base to this dense part of the woods, but Dean had been patrolling the area for almost two hours now, and had yet to see a sign of it.

He struggled to focus as he scanned the treetops, dappled shades of green blending together. Then he shook himself, gripping his gun tighter in frustration; he wouldn’t catch the monster with his mind wandering.

He felt rather than saw a shadow behind him and whipped in that direction, but it was already gone. Dean suddenly felt very exposed, dense forest and dark, leafy brush on all sides. It could be anywhere. It could come at him from anywhere. Then, in his peripherals, way up in the canopy, he saw a shadow form, and though it was only late afternoon it grew impossibly dark, like it was sucking all the sunlight out of the sky.

He turned its way, but it too was gone. He was running blindly out of the way, kicking bushes out of his path when he saw it.

A deliberate tangle of branches, 6 feet in diameter, trimmed with thorns. It surrounded a rough hole in the ground, plunging into nothingness. Flies buzzed and a putrid, decaying stench reached him. Dean packed away, horrified, as he saw the ground was littered with dead animals and rodents. Some were bloody and ripped to pieces, scattered among some bones that suspiciously human.

* * * * * * * * * * *   
When he came running back to their trap, John was baffled, then angry.

“What’re you doing?! Where’s the wendigo?”

“It’s not a wendigo,” Dean panted, hands on his knees. “It’s gotta be a bugbear. It was messing with my head, making me see things and then…” he swallowed. “I found its nest.”

“A bugbear? Are you sure? They usually set up some defense, did the nest have thorns?” John asked.

Dean nodded. “And the remains of its lunch. What do we even know about these things? Is the trap even gonna kill it?”

“The fire? No, no bugbears need a ritual. They’re like bogeymen, but with a special taste for lost kids…”

They froze, wide-eyed, as the same thought occurred to both of them.

“Sam.”

And they took off running.


	3. Chapter 3

When they return to the apartment, they find it torn to pieces. The window in the living room was smashed in, pieces of glass (and salt) strewn across the floor. Chairs and cabinets were knocked over, and deep gouges (claw marks) slashed the walls.

“Sam!” John called out, methodically surveying the room, but Dean stood frozen, fear and fury roiling in his stomach. Then a snarl came from the kitchen, and he snapped back into action, rushing forward and raising his gun. John had already heard. The bugbear was still there, crashing through the kitchen like it was following a scent.

The creature was humanoid only in the loosest sense of the word. It was hunched over, covered in fur, with heavy claws. It was animalistic except for its off-putting intelligent eyes, looking at them like it knew exactly what they were afraid of.

Dean barely entered the room before John loaded its head with silver.

“ _Where_ is Sam?!” John shouted, going back out into the hall and flinging doors open, “Dammit!”

John seemed to be angry with Sam for leaving, but Dean was still worried he hadn’t gone voluntarily. What if the bugbear had already gotten to him, or he was forced to run, or hurt, or…

Dean went to check Sam’s room, trying not to think about whether it would be worse to find the room empty or to find him. He tried not to think about what the claws that carved up a wall could do to his little brother.

He pushed the door open. The room was empty, but quiet. The bugbear hadn’t gotten in here. So for one reason or another, Sam had left. But was that long enough ago to avoid the attack?

Dean paced the room, racking his brain to think of where Sam might go. Was he just bored, playing hooky on guard duty, or was it something more serious?

One of the books in a pile on Sam’s desk caught his eye. It was a journal he’d often seen Sam scribbling in, including that morning. Hesitating only a moment, he grabbed the journal and flipped through to that day’s entry. He scanned it, feeling increasingly guilty as he read about Sam’s excitement about this girl named Elizabeth and detailed plans (right down to a freaking chart, the dork) for his date in Stewart park that evening.

Dean shut the journal. “Dad! I found something!”

* * *

  

As John drove, the wheels of the car roared angrily over the road, taking the turn into the park hard.

Dean glimpsed the two of them first, as they sped through the wooded area on the driveway that circled the park. The two kids were sitting on a blanket at the edge of the pond; the distance making them look like dark shapes against the indigo sky, the sun having set minutes ago. Dean’s chest tightened for a beat as he noticed Sam had brought a picnic, and he and Elizabeth were tossing sandwich crumbs to the ducks. He idly wondered where Sam had gotten the basket.

John screeched the car to a halt not 20 yards behind them. He was rolling down his window, but Dean was already halfway out the impala, trying to prevent John’s need to yell across the distance.

Dean ran to them, skittering to a halt before their blanket. Sam had finally seen him coming, and stood up quickly, eyes wide.

“Dean, wait, please I can explain—“

Dean shook his head. “Save it for Dad, kid. And he’s pissed, so it’s in your best interest to just follow orders and keep your mouth shut.”

Sam, distressed, looked back at Elizabeth.

“But I…”

“ _Now,_ Sam,” Dean insisted. He hated shouting, but he was sure they had one hell of a shouting match coming, and it was only going to get worse if Sam stalled.

“I’m really sorry, I can’t explain, but I’ve got to go,” Sam says to a bewildered Elizabeth still sitting on the blanket. Dean shoots her a brief panicked smile before urgently hurrying Sam along. He grabbed his jacket and took off towards the car. He stopped halfway and turned around, calling, “Wait, are you ok, do you need a ride home?”

“Yeah, my mom’s coming later…” Elizabeth called back, concerned. “Sam, what’s going on? Are you alright?” Elizabeth had no way of knowing what was really happening, but she was intuitive enough to know that it was real fear in Sam’s expression.

Sam froze, and opened his mouth to explain, but he was cut off by a blast of the impala’s horn.

Dean watched as he muttered one more mournful, “ _I’m sorry,_ ” before hanging his head and running to the car.


	4. Chapter 4

When they finally get back to the apartment, it’s way too quiet.

Sam expected Dad to let him have it as soon as they got back to safety, but he doesn’t. He takes his time setting up their normal protections. First, he lays down a salt line. Then, he writes symbols on the door and below the windows. Lastly, he places the hex bags. One behind the fridge. One in the middle desk drawer. One tucked in each of their door jambs.

Finally, Sam can’t take it anymore. He’d almost rather John start shouting. At least then it would be over.

“Dad…?”

John didn’t answer. Sam felt Dean start beside him at the sudden break of quiet. He had been standing there stiffly, holding the bags he hadn’t needed to be told to bring in from the car, wondering if he should stay or go.

John stood up and turned to face them slowly, tense and rigid.

“You know I’m disappointed in you Sam. I really thought you had more sense than this.” His voice was calm, but angry, like it took all of his physical strength to hold the fury in. The change in temper was startling, and both boys reacted to it; Dean with hunched shoulders and anxious glances between his brother and father. Sam, though his eyes were swimming with fear, held his head a little higher.

“But Dad, I didn’t mean-“

“No, son. It doesn’t matter what you meant or didn’t mean. You had a responsibility. Your brother and I needed you to be here, keeping watch, and you let us down.”

Dean stood up straighter, surprised to be included in this, eyes darting back and forth from Sammy to his father.

“It’s not my fault the bugbear came! You always make me stay at home, guarding stuff and training, how come I have to do all that stuff when nobody else does? Everyone else gets to go out and have a life except me!”

“You better watch your tone, son. No, it’s not your fault the monster _came_ , but if you’d been there on guard like I _told you to_ , none of this would have happened, now would it?”

“How was I supposed to know it would come for us? ‘Guard duty’ is just your made-up job to leave me behind, _like always_! You don’t even trust me enough to tell me when something’s after us!”

“Well, if you’re going to ditch your responsibilities, then I can’t trust you. Not if you act this selfishly.”

“Selfish?! I’m just trying to have a normal life! And I’m _sorry_ if I’m not good enough to go on your precious hunts, but if you wanted me out of your way—“

“Don’t you even _care_ what happened to your mother?! If you don’t do as your told, you could easily end up going the same way!”

Sam lurched back, shocked, eyes wide. Dean stood frozen, staring at his father and trying not to breathe into the fragile silence. As far as he knew, it was the first time John had mentioned Mary in at least six years. Sam rushed out of the room without another word.

John watched as Sam retreated. For a moment, he looked almost as stunned as Sam had. Then he shook himself, turning back to the stuff he’d brought inside. “Dean, unpack those bags,” he said, gesturing to the weapons stash still slung across Dean’s shoulder.

He moved to put the bags down on the table, then stopped, pulse still racing. “You shouldn’t have been so hard on him,” he said in a low, albeit shaking voice.

“Excuse me?” John tenses up beside him, defensive. Dean feels frozen to the spot.

“All I’m saying is that he wouldn’t have lied to us if he was actually allowed out once in a while. It’d be safer that way.” Dean tried to remain calm, breathing slowly even as he felt the adrenaline crawling under his skin.

But John’s voice was rising again. “Oh, so what, now you’re turning on me too? I thought you understood why training is so important!”

“ _I_ get it, I do, but Sam’s still a kid! You can’t keep him locked up all the time, it’s just gonna make things worse!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Fatigue seeping into his voice, John continued, “You think I didn’t want better for you boys?”

“Well, you’re not helping anything by blaming him!” Dean snapped.

His father’s demeanor turned cold again. “Sam left his post. He needs to learn there are consequences to his actions.”

“Dammit, Dad, don’t you get it?! Sam is _miserable_ living this way, and if you keep doing this to him, you’re going to push him away!”

“The kid’s just going through puberty, he’s not going anywhere. We’re his family.” 

Dean shook his head frantically. “That’s not going to be enough for very long, and you know it.” John was quiet. Dean didn’t remember starting to cry, but suddenly he was rapidly blinking away blurriness. “Don’t you see? You can’t drive him away, Sam can’t leave, he-he _can’t._ He clearly thinks he has to lie to get away from us just to have a normal life. So if he doesn’t have a better reason to stay…” Dean sniffed, head down. “How are we gonna protect him then, huh?”

And with that, he turned away, to finish unpacking the bags in silence.

 

* * *

 

 

 

(psst. [i have a tumblr now!](http://www.bluejayunit.tumblr.com))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheesh, this fic is just a bundle of joy, huh? But good news, changing my publishing schedule to every other day now, so next chapter will be up this Saturday. Also, if you didn't know, I have an all-supernatural tumblr now! Check out that link above.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam sank to the floor behind his closed bedroom door. He wanted to stay angry, but all that came out were near silent sobs. He clutched his hair in shaking hands.

It wasn’t just how unfair the whole situation was, being blamed for a hunt going wrong that he hadn’t even been allowed to go on. No, it was the fact that no matter what Sam did, no matter how hard he tried; he always seemed to end up doing the wrong thing. All he ever did was try to do what everyone wanted of him, and it never worked.

He didn’t fit in at school. Many times his classmates would laugh at him for how hard he worked on his homework and how much time he spent studying and reading. They didn’t see that his grades were one of the very few things he could control in his life; one of the few chances he had to prove himself.

Even the students that were invested in schoolwork like he was were still obviously wary around him. He was always the new kid that arrived part way through the school year, he was never on any sport teams or clubs, because he didn’t have the time, with training to hunt at home. Even the teachers treated him with contempt at worst and pity at best. They were constantly suspicious of his home life, side eyeing him every time he only had a handful of change to buy lunch with or handed them a note postponing a parent teacher conference for the third time.

He didn’t fit in at home. Not that they ever had one. His father was practically militant, assigning him and his brother times to the minute that they had to be home, “defending” the house, training, or otherwise fulfilling their duties. Knowing his father’s paranoia was justified made it no less frustrating when he berated Sam for showing so much as a lack of enthusiasm for learning to hunt.

Though never directly confrontational with their father, Dean used to be the rebel of the family, the deviant with a cocky attitude problem that snuck out to parties. And when left in charge at home, he’d let Sammy get away with all sorts of things John would not endorse. Sam recalled one particularly memorable occasion when their father was away on a hunt. He’d been struggling through homework in the dark motel room alone when Dean returned, a stack of horror movies (to laugh at the inaccuracy of) in one hand and a giant bag of jumbo marshmallows for dinner in the other.

But in the past year, Dean had been becoming more and more like their father. He wore a few of his old jackets regularly, listened to the same music, and even drove his car sometimes now. He was as restless as ever, but in a very different way than Sam was used to. Dean did even more training than Dad assigned, and begged him to take him on increasingly difficult hunts. More than once Sam had come home from school to find Dean cleaning guns or sharpening knives from the trunk when Sam knew for a fact Dad had just taken stock of the weapons the day before. Little by little, with each time Dean told him off for making fun of Dad’s orders or complaining about training, Sam felt like he was losing the brother he’d thought he could count on to always make things better.

A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.

He sprang away from the door to sit on his bed, hastily wiping his eyes, but he didn’t open the door, scowling at the shadow he could see under it. If his father thought he was going to make amends so easily….

He had his own room in this apartment for once, and he’d be damned if he didn’t use the advantage, so he ignored it when the knock came gently again.

The voice that followed, weary and soft, was not the one he expected.

“Sam, it’s me,” Dean said through the door.

Sam still hesitated; trying to get a read on his brother’s mood before deciding if answering the door was a good idea.

“Sam, come on, open up,” Dean said, a bit more impatient this time.

Sam quickly stood to open the door, and then turned away to sit on his bed, without waiting to let Dean in, knowing it was still obvious on his face that he’d been crying. Dean let himself in and closed the door behind him, a plastic grocery bag swinging from one arm. He sighed, seeing Sam all scrunched in on himself, and took a seat next to him. There was a long silence; Sam trying to wipe his remaining tears without being obvious about it and Dean struggling for the right words.

“I’m sorry your date sucked.”

Sam sniffed, folding his arms in front of him. So on top of everything else, he was going have to get mocked for this too?

Dean perhaps noticed that this was not the best opener, or sensed that Sam was closing off, because he quickly changed approaches and stood up.

“I got something to show you,” Dean said, walking towards the door, “Come with me.”

Sam looked up, puzzled at this strange development. “Come where?”

“Just outside. Bit of a hideout I found, ‘bout time I let you in on the secret,” Dean said, with a bit of forced jovialty, “Huh? What d’you say?”

Sam cut a nervous glance to the door. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Dean nodded, rubbing his face awkwardly, then turned to leave. Just before the door he paused, though, and staring at the floor added in a very low voice, “Dad just went out for a supply run, if that makes a difference.”

Sam was surprised by that, as he hadn’t heard the door close. But if his father had really gone out that meant Sam wouldn’t have to talk to him…

Dean looked over his shoulder and caught Sam’s eye, trying to predict what he would decide. It hurt to see Sam like this, all distant and resentful, everything he’d been trying to warn their father about. He just hoped he could get through to Sam before it was too late.

After a moment, he dropped his gaze and opened the door. He took a slow step outside the room, and Sam quietly followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be up Monday!


	6. Chapter 6

Tonight, it was quite cold up there. A strong gust blew a few leaves over the edge of the roof. Sammy kicked his dangling feet.

Dean opened his plastic grocery bag from the Quick-Mart down the road. Lucky it was near Halloween, he thought. He’d picked up a bag of mini Reese’s peanut butter cups, the little ones wrapped in orange and red and yellow foil. Sam’s favorite.

Wordlessly, Dean opened the bag and held it out to Sammy. Sam’s eyes lit up a bit, for the first time that night from something other than tears, but still he said nothing. He did, however, unwrap one chocolate and pop it in his mouth. And while Dean was glad to see this welcome change from the sulky Sam he’d confronted earlier that evening, he thought he could still do one better.

To that end, Dean brought out his real prize. An eight-juicebox pack of Hi-C Ecto Cooler. Sam was obsessed with the stuff. Dean didn’t get it. It was just the normal orange Hi-C, except it was dyed some god-forsaken unnatural shade of slime green and had a cartoon ghost slapped on the front.

Dean took no small amount of pride in the fact that he’d gotten Sam to share his love of cartoons. But even in this small victory, Sam had to mess it up, so naturally he preferred the geekiest option available. His favorite was some kid’s cartoon version of the Ghostbusters, which Dean found not only nerdy in the extreme but also grossly inaccurate. (And Sam knew it too- ghosts don’t look like that, the characters are _really_ sloppy with the evidence, and those jackasses barely knew how to operate an EMF, for crying out loud!)

Still.

The show had been canceled several years ago now, and while the slime-drink was still around, it was a bit of a rare find if the grocery store of whatever town they were passing through that week happened to stock it.

(Years down the road, when the apocalypse was over and his brother was in the cage with Lucifer and the whole world had gone to shit, Dean found a pack of the stuff on the back shelf of a gas station convenience store. It had probably been sitting there since they last sold the stuff near a decade ago, but he was so excited to see it he didn’t care, and he actually made it to the car before realizing he didn’t have Sammy to share it with. He realized he couldn’t drink it, not without Sam, and yet he couldn’t throw it away, because what kind of monster wastes what was likely the last pack of Hi-C Ecto Cooler in existence? So it sat in the back of the motel fridge for over a week, being ignored and depressing. Then Dean couldn’t stand it anymore, and in a fit of frustration and loneliness one night he stabbed open the boxes one by one, mixed them with vodka and downed them all. He woke up the next morning with an end-all, be-all hangover and a shitload of shame added to the already heavy load he carried around everywhere.)

The drink’s increasing rarity meant there was no way Dean was leaving without a pack when he spotted some in the store earlier. Because now Sammy was smiling outright. Laughing, even, because Sam was thirteen now, and totally over kid’s stuff like juice boxes. (He eagerly took a box. Took a slow sip and let it stain his tongue green.)

For a moment, Dean felt ridiculous. For a moment, he reflected on the fact that it was 10 o’clock on a Friday night, and he was sitting on the roof of their apartment drinking juice boxes with his kid brother. Normal teenagers with lives would be out at parties at this time of night, he thought. But then Sam started laughing again, for no goddamn reason, and he laughed so hard he snorted green Hi-C out his nose, which made Dean laugh, and he remembered he’d never been much of one for “normal” anyhow.

Dean lay back on the cold tin roof, and Sam followed suit, as they let their laughter die out. In these type of situations, Dean had never felt like has was any good at talking, but at this particular moment he didn’t think he needed to.

They let the silence last a long time.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Now, Sam sounded so sincere, and Dean would’ve known anyway that he meant for more than the juice boxes and chocolate, but still he tried to brush it off.

“Yeah. Course.” 

“No,” Sam insisted, “I mean it.” He sat up, looking down imploringly at Dean.

“You’re welcome,” Dean muttered uncomfortably, “But Sammy? You know you’re…you’re allowed to have your own life. You’re a kid, you’re allowed to go on dates, have fun… hell, make stupid mistakes. Everyone does. It’s not a crime to have more to your life than hunting.”

Sam snorted a humorless laugh, looking out over the town. “That’s not the way Dad sees it.”

“Yeah, well, Dad’s wrong.”

Sammy looked up sharply at that. Normally Dean would hardly even tolerate negative words about their father, never mind say them himself.

“Dad, he…he keeps too tight a leash on you, man,” Dean continued, “Now I know, the way we live means we’ve got to be more careful than most kids. It’s harder for us to have a normal life. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t _try_. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hold on to whatever normality you manage to get.”

Dean stared down at his juice box, and in a quiet, self-conscious voice, added, “Hell, I kind of wish I had.”

Sam squinted in confusion at that. “What are you talking about? You’ve had plenty of girlfriends.”

Dean shot him a dark look. Staring down at his hands, he asked, “Yeah? If I’ve had so many girlfriends, tell me, what were any of their names?”

Sam recoiled a bit, startled to draw a blank. It had always seemed to him one of those dependable facts in life, that Dean was always bringing home girls (and guys, on more than one occasion, although they were only ever officially there to “help with homework,” Sam had never been an idiot). But thinking back on it, Sam realized he’d never seen any of those faces more than once or twice each, tops. Maybe Dean really _had_ never dated anyone right. Anyone special.

Sam grimaced awkwardly. “I never realized…”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “Never mind, that’s not the point.” He cleared his throat. “Here’s the thing, Sammy. You go on all the dates you want, just tell me where you are. And you’ve gotta promise to call me if you ever get into any kind of trouble, and I swear I won’t tell Dad if you don’t want me to. You don’t want him to know about every detail of your life, I get it. But that way we can get to you if we need to…in case anything happens.”

Sam stared, wide-eyed, at his brother. He couldn’t believe what Dean was suggesting, what he was offering. This wasn’t just him risking a petty argument with Dad. This was putting himself in the line of fire.

“But Dad will-“

“You let me worry about Dad. Just live your life…and make _sure_ you call when you get into trouble. Deal?”

Sam took a deep breath. “Deal.”

Dean looked out over the town, glowing and shimmering the night. By all respects, it should have felt cold and unfamiliar, just another week, just another town. But it didn’t. It was the same kind of nothing-to-see small town they’d always stayed in. There was the Chinese food take out place; there was the greasy diner (every town had a greasy diner, somehow). There was the mediocre library that Sam spent an unhealthy amount of time in. Each town, different in its particulars, was at its heart exactly the same. He liked seeing it from up here, spread out before him like a map, like the blueprint of a machine. And they had a part in that machine, as the anonymous strangers, the faces in the crowd that just so happened to save everyone else in it by taking out the monsters that threatened them. Every town they stopped in needed them, but most of them would never know they had ever been there at all.

It felt like home, more than any one particular place Dean could recall. He just wished he could get Sammy to feel the same, if he couldn’t get him the normal life he deserved.

(Sam ended up dating Elizabeth for 10 months, making it one of his longest relationships, second only to the time he would later spend with Jess.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, liked, and commented on this fic! Hope you enjoyed it!


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